AN - April 2014: To answer a common question which some of you might be wondering about, I do not like to write unnecessary scenes / duels. This is a Tag Force Anthology, not a Tag Force Novelization. I don't write obvious scenes that have been played out in the series, don't write about the process(es) of duels which outcome is also clear. To those who follow the TF Series, at least. If I use events or scenes that follow the game's scenario, it means that I'm tuning those scenes here and there, adding this and discarding that. What's the point in reading needless chapters which scenes you can easily watch on YouTube?
More about duels: I. Hate. Writing. Duels. Unless I think it's super-necessary or a reader prompts to write one (while giving the detail of the process), I wouldn't do duels. Period. I have a limited amount of free time as an active university student whose life is becoming busier and busier, and I don't intend on wasting it by planning a complex YGO duel. I'm simply bad at it. I acknowledge that.
(This section of A/N will be imported to Chapter Zero's A/N)
Additional Note: The titles of that are the pillars of the main storyline are under the theme of 'Romance' first and anything from Action-Adventure to Angst second. Again I want to remind you that unless a title is stamped as AU or AT or AE, it is part of the same Timeline. That, and Nivial is rated M for a reason.
Well. Enjoy. And Review.
*~ Nivial ~*
Chapter 3
Starring: Sherry L.
Genre: Romance / Action-Adventure / Angst
Rating: M
Time Setting: Tag Force 5
Directly Linked to: Echo
A Prequel to: Wish
A Sequel to: Noumenal
Challenged / Requested by: King of Stories, Shouhei T3
Type: Multi-chapter
Everything was a blur of events after the night at the SS HQ.
She remembered that she'd run out of the building, frantically searched for her Runner, and gone to her hideout. She remembered the emptiness that was eating her heart and mind then, the feeling of being depraved of all purpose and goal, weak and useless. Training sessions went by like a motion of a set of broken movie: draw, duel, speed up, stop. She had simply functioned as an adept riding duelist through them all.
Of course, her mind's lack of presence had been noticed by her butler and Osamu. The former had chosen to keep his thoughts to himself and his mouth shut, being a good, faithful servant he was. The latter...though uncertain at first, had tried to get her to talk, but backed down when no words still refused to come from her mouth. She had been saved by the MC back then, who had announced through LIVE Broadcast that reached all over the city, that the WRGP season had begun. Afterward, she'd avoided confrontation with him-or any other people-altogether, opting to lock herself away in her new apartment room.
This was the second day of her imprisonment, and still her mind restlessly reeled to the events in the past. Events she couldn't undo and could only mourn for the rest of her life. The first round of the tournament was coming, less than a week from now, but she found herself unable to mentally prepare for it. For once in her twenty years of life, Sherry Leblanc felt numb.
She felt nothing. No pain, no remorse, just...nothing.
She should have been scared, to be locked in this state. Common knowledge taught her that this kind of feeling usually marked the beginning of madness. She didn't doubt it. Thinking back, everything that she had done and been pursuing seemed to be insane, the same could be stated to all the things she had gone through just to participate in this tournament.
A soft knock on her door prompted her to look at a clock hanging on the wall. It was almost eight. "M'lady," Mizoguchi's voice carried from behind the door. "Your breakfast."
Lazily she stood up, leaving the warmth of her bed, and opened the door. Her butler stood before her with a tray on one hand. His face, usually emotionless and placid, now betrayed his concern for her. "Please eat well, M'lady. We have a scheduled training at the circuit today," he said.
Sherry simply nodded wordlessly. She accepted the tray of food from him, and went back to the solace of her room. Mizoguchi seemed to contemplate to say more, but thought didn't jump into it. He was standing still at the doorway for several seconds. Sherry didn't bother to cast a glance at him, and that made up his mind. He bowed, then closed the door, leaving her alone with sandwiches she had no intention to touch.
She hadn't had the apetite to eat. On the table there was still another tray of food, her dinner, that did look tempting to be tried on. But she simply did not have the heart to. Instead of listening to her stomach's protest, she went to the bathroom, showered, changed into a simple attire that only consisted of jeans and t-shirt, and autonomically grabbed her riding suit from a hanger in her wardrobe.
Another knock on her door. "I'm preparing," she said, a little bit too weakly. The knock persisted. Repressing the urge to sigh, she went back to the door and opened it. "I said I was preparing—"
In front of her stood not the towering figure of her butler but a much leaner man. Osamu.
Her eyes met his, and for a moment, neither of them moved or spoke. His face leaked no emotion, but she was no fool. She knew he was disturbed, or maybe even unrest.
She was the one to break the eye-contact. "I'm still preparing for today's training," she stated flatly as she turned to go back into the room.
Osamu walked in after her. He looked around the place and on the two trays his eyes fell. "You haven't been eating right."
"Just not in the mood to."
"Your butler told me you haven't even eaten your dinner last night."
Sherry ignored him. She busied herself with her riding suit and bag, stuffing whatever things she would need for the day without actually processing it. She heard him sigh.
"Till when you're gonna act like that?"
She spun around to meet his accusing stare with a blank one of her own. "Act like what?"
That did it. Instantly he drew his brows together in an angry scowl, strode so fast until he was inches apart from her, and had her forearm in his firm grasp. "What's wrong with you, Sher? Why're you acting like this—neglecting yourself, avoiding contact?"
"I'm not—"
"Don't try to deny it!"
She closed her mouth.
The anger within him showed, then subsided. In a softer, gentler voice, he said, "I didn't mean to hurt you when I said that."
Osamu was referring to that night of infiltration. What he'd said during her moment of rage…
"What difference is there between you and the Yliaster?"
There was truth in his words, revelation she'd known but too scared to admit. It had hurt. So much that now she couldn't draw enough strength to acknowledge the dull ache it had become. No, it was not because of the irony in them, but it was more at the loss of purpose that left her vacant.
"I never meant to hurt you," he whispered. His other hand travelled to her hair, to her cheek, skimmed over trails of tears that had dried some time ago when she still had the sanity to weep. "You know that. Don't you?"
At that moment, she didn't know whether she should brush him off or linger in his presence. Her blank mind was refusing any stimulus, had deemed to have been so overused it now lay between wakefulness and sleep. All she could do was let her lips curl into a tiny smile. "I know."
His grip on her arm tightened. The pressure and near-pain brought a bit of her to reality, and Sherry quickly regretted it. The wound was reopening, and a place somewhere deep within her constricted.
"Do you really?" Anger flared across his face once again. "Then why are you being like this?"
"I," she tried to croak, and stopped herself. What was she going to say? That she didn't know what was happening to her? That she wanted to feel nothing, to hear nothing? Experience told her that to reveal her weakness meant to let the hurt dominate. A dangerous notion.
To his credit, he loosened his grip on her. He bowed so he was staring at her eye level. "If you don't want to talk then I don't push you. Just…" He glanced away to sigh. "Lords, I'm bad at this," he muttered as he ruffled his hair. He returned his attention to her again, and his exasperation was clearly showing. "Just… I may not understand what you've been through, but I know how it feels to shut everything off. If it's time you need, then take it."
A layer of fog seemed to melt away, but the pain sat there still. Sherry nodded. She couldn't find words to say, and so very unlike her, she was content to stay silent.
Osamu took her nod begrudgingly but did not protest. Defying all logic, he moved closer, and his lips were on her temple. His breath a soft, warm flush that let her close her eyes and drop her guard down to let invite him in. Just almost.
Seconds passed, and they stood there in her room, each drowned in the light embrace. A knock on her door alerted them, and before Mizoguchi told them that it was time to leave, he stole a second to taste her lips.
xx - 5D's - xx
Afternoon came sooner than she'd expected. Mizoguchi had booked one of the five circuits in the largest stadium of Neo Domino for the day. There they trained, tried various strategies, assessed each other's performances, and raced.
There wasn't much difference between this day and the last. She was still airy headed, still couldn't focus. It was like doing a routine that the mind did no longer pay attention to: she offered feedbacks, nodded to some, tuned her Runner, tested it out. If the word 'little' could have any meaning, it was only that the empty spot in her heart had been patched up a little, allowing her to, at least, feel and yield to her hunger when lunch was prepared. Much to a certain person's intense stare, actually.
Her wristwatch now showed 4:31. Mizoguchi had parked his Runner and now was dusting his and hers off after a day's use. Osamu emptied a bottle of water. "I'm gonna shower and change," he said.
"I want to look around for a bit." Truth was, she wanted to ease her stiff muscles under the shower of warm water as much as he did. But she found her body still a bit restless, and she figured that walking would do some trick to undo it.
He looked at her. Sherry smiled. "You just go," she said, spinning him round by the shoulders and pushed him gently to the staircase leading to their team's changing room down the basement. "I won't stray in a stadium."
Thankfully, he adhered to her suggestion.
Sherry began to scan the vast, empty circuit. She drew a breath, to cleanse her mind, her body. Her feet carried her to a vending machine. She bought a can of sweet tea, gulped the content, and for the first time in three days, felt her thirst was truly quenched. Beside the vending machine was a board that showed team names that were using the circuits. Her eyes stopped on a familiar name.
"5D's" was shown on it. Occupant of circuit five.
They were here? Were they also training?
Curiosity piqued her interest, and she bowed down to it. She followed the pathway that led to a circuit at the farthest side of the area. Osamu seemed to have not realized that they shared the stadium with them. If he had, surely his mood would sour.
After two minutes of walking, voices of speeding Runners could be heard. Then as she advanced, voices of people.
"You're doing it wrong!"
She recognized it as Jack Atlas'. She came to a balcony that presented her with a clear view of the field, found a group of three mechanics that consisted of a tall young man and two kids and three duelists in their riding suit.
Below her, Jack Atlas was arguing with a short duelist of many piercings that glinted like gold in the evening glow. If her head hadn't failed her, the short guy's name should be Crow. Crow Hogan, she thought. "You increase her speed and she will blast it off with a push of a pedal!" he bellowed.
"Yeah? So you're suggesting we tune Bloody Rose for rough turns instead?" Crow bit back. "What? Are we racing off-road or something?!"
"You guys, calm down," Yusei Fudo said. Sighed. The glares he received from the two guys did not make him falter. He seemed to have been used to them. "Look. Her control has largely improved since yesterday."
"By a nano-bit," Jack grunted.
Ignoring him, Crow said, "That's why I say we improve the speed now! You know it's essential in the upcoming round!"
"You wanna see her crash?"
"Shuddup, Jack! You're far too underestimating!" To Yusei and the others, he said, "Go for the speed."
"I say don't."
"That," said the tall, blue-haired mechanic from behind a computer, "will be up to her results after this last lap."
Sherry followed all the pair of eyes to a large screen that monitored the circuit. On it, she saw a duelist, a female duelist, racing through a set of obstacles. She was a figure clad in burgundy red, down to her Runner. Aki Izayoi. Even if her face was hidden by her helmet, Sherry could easily make out her features.
The way she ran her Duel Runner fell between the categories of clumsy, unsteady, and eager. She saw her hitting the brake late, staggering after a quick turn, almost falling when attempting for a 180 degree spin. Osamu's words about her trying to pick up riding duel for the tournament rang in her head, confirmed now. She remembered accidentally meeting her in a circuit owned by the government days ago where Sherry had been spying on the SS. Aki had just gotten her riding license then.
Looking at her now, Aki looked like she had improved quite a lot, though her awkward control still showed. Sherry observed, and winced, when Aki made a wide turn to her left when evading an obstacle. She had almost hit the separator. Thankfully the girl regained balance at the last second. Now free of obstacles, she sped up and managed to finish what remained of her lap without accidents.
The twin kids cheered at her success, and the boys walked to her when she dismounted her Runner. She put off her helmet, and face trickled with sweat and anxiety met her friends. Their voices died down to a conversation about her feat. Opinions were ranging from skeptical reasoning to congratulations for her improvement.
Sherry watched all of it from her spot, strangely finding that she was unable to tear her eyes away from the small, lively crowd below.
Was that...how her life would be if she hadn't chosen to after her parents' murderers? Circled by friends, smiling and laughing...? Absently, she tried to search for a memory of resemblance.
Nope. She could find none. Growing up in an estate with high expectations from her family, she never truly had a chance to befriend kids her age. And too soon was her childhood be taken away from her. All she could vividly summon was memories of hours she'd spent training herself in combat and duel tactics, the bittersweet taste of triumph when witnessing her chasers slump in defeat, and the light sleep she had dozed with a gun under her pillow. She couldn't think of many girls growing up the way she had.
Unaware of the vacant eyes that were staring at them, the team continued their debate on what would be best for Aki Izayoi's tuning. Aki nodded her head to what Crow and Jack were saying, but then told by the twin boy not to listen to either, causing the two guys to fume and the duelist in red to sheepishly giggle.
Despite their battle of words and temper, they looked truly comfortable, enough that they could incite snarls and sighs from each other without having to worry over losing the bond between them. They were at ease. Confident that the tie connecting them was stronger than anything. Was Sherry supposed to feel...envious of them? Jealous?
If a normal person should than she certainly had gone mad. There was no feeling that came with the vicious thought, no pain, no hurt. Was that even normal?
Her train of thoughts was cut when Aki turned her gaze and discovered Sherry. Uncertainty could be seen written on her face, but then she smiled, and soon all the team members followed to look at the balcony where she was at. Yusei waved, and Atlas nodded his greeting. Sherry smiled back to them. She descended the stairs, and once there, she greeted Aki who had walked over to meet her.
"I heard that you've decided to participate in the tournament," Aki said.
"Yes. My team will be in a different block than yours. We should meet in the quarto-final if we keep on winning."
"Hopefully so. Were you training here too?" the Senator's daughter asked politely.
Sherry nodded. "Yes. We've just finished." She gave her a sly smile and a sweeping gaze over Aki's figure. "I hadn't had a chance to ask back then. If I may ask, what prompted you into riding duels?"
That not-so-much-of-a-question made the girl's smile grow larger. Color rose to her cheeks. "Many things," she said. "It has been a long-time wish. Forgotten once, but now made true thanks to them." She indicated to her peer who had busied themselves with their Runners.
"How long have you been learning?"
"Oh, just around three weeks."
Genuine astonishment widened Sherry's eyes. "You're surprisingly good if you could pull all those stunts in just three weeks."
If her greetings about riding duels had made Aki smile, now she was positively blushing. Sherry tried to recall the fact that the girl had been involved in a dark case surrounding psychic duelists and a band of terrorist, tried to relate the picture media had of her to this...girl in front of her. And failed.
"They are good teachers," was her humble reply.
"Lucky you. Aren't they hard to come by."
Almost as fast as an eagle preying for a jumping fish, the look in Aki's eyes became misted. Whereas before joy and satisfaction were coloring her face, they were now wiped out like they had never been there. Her eyes went to one side, looking uncomfortable; one hand moved to touch her elbow. "I...meant to ask something," Aki began, hesitation could be heard in her voice.
"Sure."
"Have you heard from-"
A call from one of the twins interrupted them. Blinking out of whatever spell that had seized her, Aki hastily replied to the boy and shook her head, the remaining of her words cast away by a sudden change of mind that was overshadowed by a fake smile. "Forget what I said." Her look became apologetic. "I have to go. I still have to decide what will become of me and my Runner."
"Well, good luck to you."
With a thank-you, Aki Izayoi ran back to her waiting comrades, leaving Sherry to wonder.
xx - 5D's - xx
Later when she'd gone back to the changing room, she found that one of the bathrooms was still occupied. Must be Osamu. Mizoguchi left her a message in her PDA, telling her that he went away first to care for their Runners. Sherry went into the empty bathroom and took a shower.
After draping herself in her casual outfit, she paused. Her mind went back to the event she'd witnessed just minutes ago and she walked to the mirror. In front of her was a woman she always saw everyday, a woman that was her, yet at the same time, not. Pale complexion, sharp-angular face, thick lashes. Her mother had always praised her for those she'd inherited from her. Long blond hair that was let loose to touch her waist was still wet from the shower.
Long hair.
She had always preferred it to be short. Simple. Practical. It was to her father's insistence that she wore it long again after years of moving from one country to another. She'd only decided to, once again after that time when she had been ten, let it grow after finding out the name of Yliaster. Of course, Mizoguchi's reactions to her sudden decision was horror, mixed a little with disbelief and apprehension.
"Long hair does not benefit you in combat, M'lady," he had said. "On the contrary, it will make it harder to pull some rough feats. In riding duels too."
Acting like a stubborn young woman of seventeen at that time, she had paid his words no mind. Only a month after the warning had she found out the cons. Still, whenever she put up scissor to cut it short, she would stop before the blades could even touch the ends of her hair. The memory of the Signers caught in a light banter entered her mind again, and she wondered, if things could have been different if she hadn't walked this path. Would she also be circled by people who were without ill intentions with knives behind their backs?
"Hey?"
Osamu's voice broke her reverie. "You there?" he asked.
Sherry slid open the bathroom door. "Yes?"
He had showered and changed into jeans and dark shirt, a towel hung on one shoulder. There was a crease between his eyebrows. "You were quiet for a long time."
"You thought I passed out?"
"No. I thought your mind wandered again."
"It did, and I did not die."
In response, he strode forward, pushed her back into the small space. "You didn't," he said. He tossed his towel to the sink. "But it doesn't make it any healthier. How are you feeling?"
"Better." She smiled a bit, hoping it would be enough to convince.
He moved fast: he drove her back until Sherry's back met the wall, latched both arms around her, trapped her with his bigger frame. Sherry gasped in a start. "What're you-"
"Has someone stated you look as pale as a ghost?" With every draw of his breath he dipped his voice and head lower. "Why are you blocking me out?"
She just looked at him.
A crude sigh. "Why are you pretending? Why have you been? All the lies...you think I wouldn't see them through?"
A dozen of replies came, but each every one of them was laced with resentment and burst of anger. She chose for a straight "Why do you care?" Her voice was low, deadly. "You said you wanted to apologize for what you'd said. I said yes to it. What more do you ask for?"
"For you to quit hurting yourself!"
"That's very prejudiced of you," she spat. "Even if I am, why make it your business to care?"
"Yeah, and does that justify your actions?"
"I can do what I want."
"You're scared."
That last statement slapped her in the face. "What-"
"You're scared to look at me as more than a teammate, yet you didn't push me back when I went after you. You said that you would let me in, but when I knocked you shut the door and lied." He closed the distance between them, and Sherry had to hold her breath when they were only milimeters apart. "Are you playing games with me, Sherry?"
She recoiled at the use of her name. "No."
"I meant to give you time. But you kept on lying. If you only had said no, I would have backed down." His gaze and voice became tender. "Just don't box everything up and...don't lie."
She looked away from him. "If this stems from your sympathy, drop it," she said with her teeth gritted. Her words were firm though her voice betrayed the emotion that was swirling in her chest: anger and sorrow. Desperation and hope. To have someone to reprimand her was...oddly refreshing. There was someone who cared enough to get angry at her, to snap when she did wrong. Still, she wasn't strong enough to leap past the line she'd set for herself.
Osamu didn't move, his body still a cage that held her captive. When his hand reached for her cheek to make her look at him, Sherry found herself unable to go against its will. A smile that didn't reach his eyes, subtle and playful, was on his lips. "You think too noble of me," he said, and without preamble, leaned in closer.
In anticipation, fear, desire and panic flooded her, making her once again dart her eyes away from his. Her brain entered a flight-or-fight stance that deemed her to choose the latter. To her anguish, her body tingled in expectation. He was standing so close to her she could almost feel each taut of muscles layered by his dark shirt. Here, in the damp and slightly heated bathroom, he made her skin flushed and prickly with awareness. Was it just his proximity that made her react this way, or was it the look in his eyes and the way the shadows teased the strong lines of his face and jaw?
Abruptly he stopped an inch before their lips could touch. "Sher." The murmur of the shortened version of her name felt like a soft plea.
Slowly, Sherry trailed her eyes to meet his, and found that his were dark and couldn't be more focused yet drunk, the reflection of her own image gleaming in the hazel orbs. She felt her heart war against her head, logic and feelings nagging at each other with every second he spent there, sharing in her breaths, unmoving.
"I don't do what I do just because I feel sympathy towards you," he whispered. "I want your trust."
You, the echo of his words was carried through his softening gaze.
"The thing that I said in that empty storehouse..." His thumb moved to brush over her cheek, a whisper of the turbulence of emotions she could see in his expression. "I didn't say it just to let your guard down or the anything. To only you, I have never lied."
And then she saw it: not the unmistakable wanting but the almost non-existent glimmer in his eyes that spoke of his feelings. That marked entry of the walls he'd built for years through layers of smiles and playfulness. All was in those eyes where she saw her reflection; there, she saw a kindred spirit.
He was someone who understood what it meant to lose and what it meant to have his own anger eat on him without a proper party in which it could be directed at. He had spent his time running away too, from a haunted entity called time. In all senses they were so very different, yet so very much alike.
That knowledge swallowed her entire defense.
"Do know that to give mine," she said, choosing her words with care, "is a foreign prospect to me."
She simply had never done it. Never fully, baring all of herself in front of a person. All of her weaknesses and worries… They belonged to her and her past alone. The idea of opposing her way of living for the past ten years should have struck her as ridiculous, disgusting, even. But a part of her, buried deep by pride and determination to have her vengeance, sang at the thought. It wanted nothing but for her to take a step and let all of her armor fall off her shoulders. Could she though?
Dare she to?
All those years she'd spent running away from one place to another, barricading herself from tender feelings save for the primal needs of the body had scarred her more than she'd been aware of. It was preventing her from summoning enough courage to push the feeling of bitterness away.
Osamu smiled a knowing smile. "A notion understood. So is the act of giving mine."
"How could you…?"
"Don't ask." He dropped his gaze for a moment, his face giving way to his own confused thoughts that must have haunted him as they had her. "I don't understand it myself. Which makes for a silly offer, but I'm not taking it back."
The simple statement, coupled with what was reflected in his expression, was what undid her.
"Then I'll take it."
He looked up, immediately alert, searching for any denial in her face.
To find none.
"I'll take what you offer," she said.
And have mine.
Osamu inched closer, and their the tips of their lips brushed, ever so slightly. She blinked, fluttering long lashes bidding her assent, and prayed that the fears that had accumulated would crumble as she tore down the identical walls within herself.
She saw but did not truly saw, only felt with every fiber in her body, when he moved closer, completely trapping her, and when one arm moved to the space between the cold wall and her curves to gather her against him. The nerves that had been tingling at the wait of his touch screamed in pleasure when their bodies fully met. His mouth found hers within a beat, and she closed her eyes, not wanting again to see, but only to revel in this growing heat between them.
So mad was she that she chose to discard her own ideals and defense mechanism that had been sheltering her for years just for this ecstasy that was eating her from inside like a poison?
Soon, she found the answer to be 'yes.' He angled his head, deepened the kiss, pinned her with his lean body. The knot in her gut tightened at the entire motion, then spread around her blood system like fire, making her feel loved. Alive. The clench on her heart did nothing to empower her legs to stand up straight - it was a new sensation that she'd only ever felt when she was with him, the sense of helplessness so alluring she wanted nothing but for him to wrap her in his embrace.
Osamu seemed to answer to her wish; using both hands, he lifted her up until her feet dangled off the tiles, and his mouth moved lower, following her collarbone to trace open-mouthed kisses that sucked the air out of her lungs.
"Trust," she began in an almost sigh when he brought her down to claim her lips again. "Must it always come with this with you?" She made her point by gently tugging at his bottom lip, enticing a low growl from him. Her hands were moving on their own to slid under his clothes and to the broad back where they had been nights before. His skin and clothing were damp, a result for being idle for too long in a bathroom where mere minutes ago hot water and steam had been.
In reply, he quietly laughed. She loved it, that laugh. It rumbled in his chest like a soft purr of a wild animal. Without a word, he came at her again. His lips were brushing the side of her neck, ghosting over her skin as it drew delicious tension and gasps. "Maybe," he breathed. He drew a long breath as if the scent of her shampoo was the most bewitching scent in the world. "And maybe not. You choose."
No more looking back.
A short giggle she couldn't help to suppress came when he began kissing her the line of her throat. "And what are you doing?"
"Trying to win you over."
No more lies.
"Unfair," she managed to say. "Making me choose while doing such a thing to me." Still the ends of her mouth twitch upward when he grazed the spot behind her ear. Osamu's response was only a chortle that was accompanied by a slight opening of his mouth.
"Mine," she could hear him growl. A stinging pain on the curve of her neck made her cry out. It was strangely welcome, the luscious pressure was heating her up in a blink of an eye. He was marking her, and all she could do was to clutch at his figure to prevent her legs from wobbling.
Adoring. Cherishing. He was different from how he had been at the storehouse; his touch was more measured, his movements designed not to nudge her nerves but to please. Osamu's arms tightened around her, molding every arc of her feminine build into him in the most intimate way. One hand, in a slow agonizing tentativeness, crept under her clothing.
Cold fingers were meeting her flushed skin and tiny bullets of sweat that were coming from the lingering steam and their proximity. It sent her heart aflutter. It was not the first time that he was there, yet Sherry's world spun threateningly as he rubbed against the exposed skin of her lower back.
He drew away from her damp hair. Intense eyes that were smoky under dark fringes and lashes were locked to hers as his hands trailed lower. Most men she'd been with would avoid looking at her when they were in the middle of such a task, but he was reversing that nature, as if asking for her consent for all he was about to do. All traces of smile had gone from his face. This, Sherry realized, wasn't a tease.
Her hammering heart fastened when all of her awareness seemed to focus on the sensation she felt below the waist. There'd be no more denying of her feelings, of this...need to have him as close as possible.
He must have seen it in her eyes, for there was a darkening on his face that was unmistakably screamed for him to do as his instinct dictated. And yet he waited.
"Seal your words." She moved to press herself to him. If you truly mean that you're not taking them back.
Her jeans came loosened. His lips closed on hers again, coaxed them open and found no resistance. A moan—his? hers? her distracted mind couldn't possibly know—resounded, echoed in the bathroom. The scent of soap and sweat and him was blinding her as, slowly, she slipped off from the material of the hard denim, leaving her only in shorts. As his hand traveled under and around to her side, she was beginning to lose her grip on all of her senses save for the feeling of touch.
Her head was light, the arms that were hooked around his shoulders flexed reflexively to draw him nearer as he moved to nuzzle the valley of her shoulder. Sherry was made aware of one more metaphorical definition of being taken captive, which was being bound by a cruel temptress that was desire, and for the present time, could care less about it.
Spots of colors were dancing around her closed eyes, and— Oh. One hand had found its destination. The shock of the sensation took its effect between her thighs and around that one hand that was trapped between their figures intensified a hundred fold; her breath was hitched, his was becoming shallow.
He paused, as if trying to wrestle control over himself. For a moment of horror, Sherry thought he was going to withdraw. But then his other arm circled around her waist, locking her to himself, to ensure, perhaps, that she wouldn't slip away. He said, so very soft she almost doubted she heard him:
"Let me." His trapped hand applied pressure.
Light at first, and already she could feel herself getting lost, frenzied. It was against the thin fabrics of her shorts, at the rapture of all the sensations—of being loved and baring herself to be pleasured—that she whispered his name. Never she'd said anyone's with a stir in both her heart and body. There was nothing else to fill her thoughts but him. He was the first person to offer himself so readily to bear the burden of her trust, and what little her presence of mind still clinging on the horizon told her that he too had been taken captive.
By her. The line between lust and love was blurred when he answered to her shudders with stronger, slower strokes that made her feet slack and fall for his support. Sounds she must have made, whether they'd be low moans, high-pitched cries, or gasps, but of them she could not hear nor be aware of.
Loneliness, dull pain, or anything that her mind had diagnosed of her was quickly drained out from her being. Filling her now was sensations of having someone, him, giving her an abundance of overwhelming pleasure that washed her from head to toe. The building sensation... This was too much. No man had ever offered her such luxury without taking something from her. Always they would murmur sweet nothings, coax her open, rip apart at the core of her, then come to empty themselves. It was only natural for them. It was nothing than a mere bargain laced with a healthy dose of alcohol. There was no liquor this time, and what he was doing to her was entirely different.
The way he held her close as ripples of unexplainable pleasure shook her body felt like safe haven, his hand on work like worship. This part that he was playing, or whatever he was doing to her now, would be a mere act of foreplay with most. But she knew, she felt, that he was merely keeping on to his words, that he was giving himself to her and that this was a mere part of what came with the package.
Seconds passed by, and oh, the feelings of him on her and something inside her body began to escalate into a near pain that draw her body to a taut. She must have writhed, or he must have invaded deeper; all she knew that her legs were beginning to give out, the tide of sweet, intoxicating feeling he was enticing from that one sensitive spot made for a lover's touch was made a conquering queen. The sensation was so startling she swayed against him.
A movement of them both, too absorbed in each other, a little slip of the feet and a stray movement of a hand accidentally pushed the pump of the shower. This was recognized a fraction of second later, when warm water flushed them both, wetting and startling them they lapsed on the bathroom floor with a loud slapping sound.
Osamu's arms were cushioning her back as they slumped, and their bodies laid entangled.
Now they were out of their stupor and under the shower of warmth, they stared at each other for the longest time. Each was still short of breath and seemingly dazzled by what had just transpired. Sherry, for her part, still breathed short and felt small balls of fire tickling her from navel down, the rest of her still relishing in the numbness that crept after the shocks had subsided.
His dark hair was tousled, plastered to his head by the water. His strong jawline was set, his lips parting only a bit, still an inch away from her. They blinked.
Then laughed.
Laughed and laughed until they had to hold on to one another until it ceased. Sherry couldn't remember when she had last laughed so openly like that. The joining of his lower, more masculine voice was adding to the suffusing warmth that the consuming heat had dissolved into. Bathed in the artificial rain and the radiant glow of her own feelings never felt so right.
With a caress of his hand against her cheek, he swept away wet locks on her face. "I'm sure you must have heard this from most men..." he said to her ear in a sweet murmur, fingers playing with her hair. His eyes lowered to swallow her entire figure as did his hand to the opening where the hem of her shirt was curled up. "You're beautiful."
She laughed a little bit louder, not resisting the butterflies that spread in her stomach this time. "Isn't that what you're supposed to say to every girl who comes to the café?"
"Uh-huh. Maybe. Haven't come there for a while."
"You haven't?"
"Can't focus on the tournament while being made a kitchen slave," he answered as he moved to tuck her body into his. His half-closed eyes lazily skimmed the contour of her shape, to which her soaked tank top didn't do much to conceal. He couldn't seem more distracted. "I'd say it's totally worth it."
She laced her arm over his chest, trailing to the side of his neck to taste his skin, not assailing the temptation to explore. She smiled when his breathing grew shallow in response. "Losing your job counts?"
"Hmm. Don't know. Don't care."
"That just convinces me that you want more than you let on."
That earned a twinkle of mischief. "I should say the same to you." Effortlessly he rolled on top of her, shielding her from the water. The crinkle of his eyes was not one she'd ever seen on his feature. "But not here," he said as he kissed her jaw. "Not in some circuit's changing room, small, cramped bathroom…"
She hummed her agreement, but not before locking her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth and weight on hers.
Maybe not here or now. But she knew what they both wanted, and was not willing to have a foretaste of it. They kissed slow and long, drinking in the intimacy between them as would wine lovers appreciate a glass of old, rich liquor. Chests pressed closely against one another, their heartbeats drummed in tandem. When her body involuntarily moved to take in all of his weight, she felt him tense in anticipation.
"You haven't told me," she said, pausing. Osamu's eyes opened in question. "Why."
Why me. Why choose to trade your trust with someone as jagged as me.
"If I want to say that I don't know," he said, "would you believe?"
She waited as they both stilled, locked in that position that ensured no lies were undetected, eyes boring into each other's: searching, waiting. "There're so many possibilities...so many reasons I can list. Because we're similar. Because you cared. Because I feel at ease when I'm around you. Because you," he dropped his head lower until their foreheads touched, "are you."
Something in her heart bloomed. Not just at his words but at the sincerity of a child's that she witnessed in someone she'd never guessed capable of such an emotion. It tugged a smile at her lips. "Thank you."
Then she shifted under him, just enough for her to straddle his waist. Osamu didn't need another invitation.
Wet clothing gave way for a surprisingly more pleasurable contact, they soon found out. The budding feeling that was everything about thrill they knew they shared was magnifying at the resume of their action. The strain in the muscles of his neck, across his broad shoulders, was evident as he received his share of pleasure.
And… Fear…?
That horrible feeling had somehow become an insignificant layer of barrier in the back of her mind, replaced by this one thing she identified as foundation of what trust could be laid upon. This was also new to her. As much as it was to him, he'd admitted. To have someone to share a new experience with, to share the fears and trust, was soothing. As their moistened breaths be cut into sharp gasps once more, she delighted in a simple prospect that she, for once, wasn't alone.